A Week in Florence
by Christmas is gonna hurt
Summary: A month after the events in Paris and England, Langdon and Sophie Neveu reconveine in Florence for some well deserved time together.
1. Chapter 1

When his plane touched down at Florence International Airport just as the sun rose above the horizon a month later, Langdon had already packed his hand luggage and was practically bouncing to get off the plane. The elderly gentleman next to him had slept all the way over the Atlantic, and though Langdon envied him immensely he hadn't gotten a wink himself; he was far too agitated, and now he was in dire need of freshening up before…. Well.

He half ran and half jogged through the airport and hailed the first taxi he saw outside. The driver new the destination well; Brunelleschi is the most famous and lucrative hotel Florence has to offer. Langdon spent the time in the cab to sort out his paperwork; the lecture he was to give the following morning at a big conference of renaissance art had rather taken the back of his mind on the flight. He had planned to spend the 12 hours most commercial airlines used on the transatlantic flight to organise his themes and bullet points, but had found he just couldn't concentrate. He was too nervous.

It had been 28 days almost to the hour since the last time he had seen Sophie Neveu; she had waved him goodbye as his taxi pulled away from the Roslin church in Scotland, her other hand linked with that of her grandmother and a big smile on her face, a smile which was full of hopes and promises for the future. Langdon had gotten on his exceptionally lonely flight back to Paris, and had returned to the states a few days later. His plane had barely touched American soil before his phone went off though; it was Sophie, calling to ask if he was still in Paris as she intended to return home soon. Langdon had never felt like such a moron.

Yet their calls became more frequent. Sophie was going through a massive change in her life, where she would first have to get used to having a family and second have to somehow deal with her unconventional heritage. It was a big step for someone who had lived alone in Paris for the last 10 years, and Langdon sensed she wanted more than anything to be able to depend on his support every step of the way. After all, there was no one else she could confide in, no one else who would understand her situation or know what she had been through. Langdon had stepped up gladly.

They called every few days, even after things started to quiet down and they could probably both have moved on with their lives. At first they talked a lot about what they had been through and the implications of what they had learned. When they ran out Langdon had continued down the line of symbology and how he became involved, which lead to him explaining to her most things about his life. After all, he was very devoted to his work and not a lot else. This in turn prompted her to tell her own story, and in hours and hours of phone calls they grew ever closer.

Now Langdon rushed into the lobby of the Brunelleschi, realised that this was hardly proper behaviour for such a high end establishment, and tried to save face by walking in a faux casual and suave manner up to the front desk to get his keys. The porter followed after with his luggage. When he had finally reached his room and wafted the staff away with a few well-placed euro notes he noticed that his phone had connected to the Wi-Fi and was displaying a new notification. Sitting down on the bed and pulling off his shoes he opened his email, and found the following note:

"Dear Robert,

My flight got delayed from Charles de Gaulle, there was a strike in the ground crew department. I unfortunately will arrive later than I planned, around 11pm this evening. It seems you will have to entertain yourself in Florence for a day! I am so sorry, I will see you tonight.

All my love,

Sophie"

Langdon's heart sank. They had planned to meet in a few hours, and he had looked forward to spending every minute of his time in Florence with her. Then again, it was not as if he would have a hard time filling his day; Florence was like the Holy Mekka of symbologists, with all its churches and museums. And, he reflected, he could probably do well with a powernap. He wrote a quick reply to Sophie, and headed for the shower as a plan started forming in his mind…


	2. Chapter 2

Sophie Neveu came through the arrivals doors on Florence International Airport and felt only slightly miffed that Robert hadn't come to meet here there. It was 10.30pm, earlier than she had feared, but still she inwardly cursed the staff at the Paris airport which had delayed her flight; instead of a long day in sunny Florence with Robert she had been sitting in a stuffed waiting hall for the best part of 6 hours. All her annoyance drifted away as she stepped out into the hot Italian night air though; this was the holiday she had dreamed of every night for a month, and the excitement came bubbling up inside her as she hailed a cab to take her to the hotel. Nothing, no cramped airport or useless ground crew could ruin this for her.

At the Brunelleschi she got the spare key to the room from reception and headed up. The butterflies in her stomach were switching from excited to nervous every 2 seconds. How will it be to see his face again? How should they even great? Would it be awkward that they hadn't seen one another for a month and now they were sharing a hotel room? Well, she reasoned as the elevator hit the 5th floor with a soft ding and she walked towards 506, there really was only one way to find out. She knocked softly at the door.

No one answered. Puzzled, she pulled out her spare key. She was a little bit earlier than anticipated, was it possible that he was out? The door slid soundlessly open and Sophie gasped as she stepped in. The room was magnificent; oaken panels, a thick rich carpet and velvet on every piece of furniture. It was the sort of hotel room where you had to open several doors before you found the bathroom. Robert, the famous author and scholar might be used to travel in this degree of style, but Sophie sure wasn't. She quietly put her luggage down by the door and walked around the sitting group in the main area, found the bedroom on the other side behind a thick oaken door and noted with some degree of satisfaction that there was only one (albeit huge) bed. The bathroom was connected both to the bedroom and the sitting room, which also harboured a fireplace and a huge writing desk. The most stunning aspect of them all only revealed itself when she pulled away the heavy curtains covering the entirety of one wall: Floor length windows covering the entire wall, through which you could see the entire historical centre of Florence lit up in the night.

The only thing missing was the one thing she had come all this way to see: Robert Langdon. He had clearly been here earlier; Sophie found his luggage partially unpacked in the bedroom and a bottle of aftershave on the shelf by the mirror in the bathroom. Where he could be, however, she had no idea.

On her second sweep of the flat she noticed a small note on the table by the sitting group. She had assumed it was an instruction for room service or something left by the hotel staff, but now she saw that it was handwritten and quite possibly torn from a notebook. It read:

"13 – 3 – 2 – 21 – 1 – 1 – 8 – 5

Innate puff onto eon;

A radical gaze, lion zip"

Sophie was smiling even before her eyes had moved past the numbers. It might not have been the most cleverly composed anagrams she had ever seen, but what can you expect from a symbologist. Just the fact that he had taken the time to write them down, and had played up to her love for riddles and cryptography, gave her a warm feeling which spread from her chest into every part of her body. He had even put down the scrambled Fibonacci sequence, like in the anagrams they had solved together in the Louvre a month earlier. Her trained eyes and brain was working overtime, and it took less than 10 seconds to solve the anagram:

"Fountain of Neptune;

Piazza della Signoria"

Grabbing her keys and with a quick glance in the mirror and a huge grin on her face, she set out into the Florentine night.


End file.
